


Tales of Vaelyn Surana

by RunawayDragons



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M, Gen, Mariel Amell, Other, Vaelyn Surana - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:34:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24603217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunawayDragons/pseuds/RunawayDragons
Summary: Drabbles and One-Shots pertaining to my canon HoF, Vaelyn Surana, elven mage badass. I've started finding all the stuff I've written about her, and editing/finishing some of them to share.I owe a lot to Lyn, she got me writing again many years ago, after I first played DA:O. And she brought me back to it after not really writing for the past two years. So please enjoy reading about her sarcastic magic ass. ^_^
Relationships: Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 2





	1. Vaelyn

She was only eight years old when the templars dragged her from her home, screaming and crying, her father lying bloodied outside their home, reaching out for her, unable to get up after the beating the templars had given him. desperately trying to tell her in elvhen how much he loves her, how sorry he is, while she is still in earshot. She doesn’t stop sobbing until that evening, when the senior templar, face disguised by his helmet, backhands her so hard that she blacks out. She is silent the rest of the journey, and only eats out of pure spite, as it is clear that they’d prefer for her to die; which was confirmed when she’d overheard them say as much, while talking amongst themselves before breaking camp that morning.  
She arrives at Kinloch Hold, scrawny and filthy, her bruises ugly shades of yellow and purple, the one on her face drowning out the freckles her mother used to kiss each night before bed. The First Enchanter glowers at the templars, clearly enraged, but he doesn’t say anything other than, “Come with me child, let us get you cleaned up.”  
She listens as this tall and bearded shem tells her a list of rules, along with a few comments that are clearly supposed to be comforting but only make the cold pit in her stomach grow larger. He gives her a small chest to put the keepsakes she’d managed to take with her in, it even has a lock on it, with a key that he hands her gently. She’s given a robe to wear, and pointed in the direction of the bathing chamber. Being clean helps, but she still feels cold. 

A few months later she has managed to make a few friends, and she’d been given permission to send her father a letter, a small reward for no longer picking fights. Most of the other apprentices around her age had been brought to the Circle when they were much younger. Her friend, Jowen, had been here since he was five. Most of the other elven children had been turned over to the templars willingly, in hopes that they’d have a better chance of living to adulthood outside of the alienages. Elsbeth, her best friend, had been turned in by one of her father’s servants, when she was seven. Mariel was taken from her mother as a young child, and most of her siblings had been scattered in other Circles across the Waking Sea.  
Overall, life at Kinloch Hold isn’t the worst. There are more books than she’d thought she would ever see in her life, and learning to control her magic has been interesting. She hates the mandatory Chantry lessons, and being forced to go to mass twice a week. She tried lodging a complaint, since she’d been raised with different beliefs (even though that is only partially true, as her father has always been a rather devout Andrastian, while her mother taught her of Mythal and the other elven gods); but no one would respect her wishes, so she has learned to sneak a book in so she can read, rather than listen to the sisters drone on and on. 

By the time she is ten, she has made a few enemies, but also a handful more friends. The First Enchanter has taken her under his wing, as her skills are clearly above average, in both magic, and ability to retain knowledge. The extra attention isn’t something she’d been looking for, but the access to the more advanced library makes it worth it. Mariel teaches her how to pick locks, and where all the best places to hide things you don’t want the templars to find are. Elsbeth shares the care packages her family sends with Lyn and Jowen, late at night while the other apprentices sleep.  
Before she turns eleven, she loses her first friend, Theo, who lost control of a fire spell, his burns so extensive he cannot be saved. She is thirteen when her bunkmate, Seva, perishes when a templar overreacts to the summoning of a spell wisp outside of class. As each year passes, she loses more friends, and at the age of sixteen, she makes the decision that it is no longer worth getting attached to anyone else. She keeps ties with her oldest friends, and distances herself from the others, throwing herself into her studies even harder. She builds her walls high, and earns a reputation that leads to the younger mages giving her nicknames they refuse to say to her face.  
At eighteen she is one of the most formidable spell casters that has not been made a full fledged mage yet. She is beyond proficient in the Spirit and Primal schools of magic, with an extensive list of potion making and researching skills to match. Jowen and Beth are the only remaining friends she has when Mariel isn’t confined to her rooms for misbehavior. Namalya had a mental break, and was made tranquil to keep her from harming herself, Lyn brings her presents of food and books when the templars aren’t paying close attention.  
The brightest moments in her life is when she gets a letter from her father. Irving has promised her that Yevlan will be allowed to visit when she passes her harrowing in the next few years. For now, she settles for her father’s pinched handwriting on paper that still smells vaguely of sun and manure. He always ends his letters with an apology for never having anything exciting to write about, as a farmer’s life is hardly exciting. She always writes back that the boring stuff is her favorite part, since the Circle has all the excitement she needs. They both never comment on the occasional blurred words, clearly made by tears falling on fresh ink.  
When she turns twenty, she begs the First Enchanter to let her visit her father, as for the first time in her life, she doesn’t receive a book from him near her birthday, as has always happened every year prior. When she still has had no word from her father a few months later, she is so concerned she almost joins Anders on his latest escape attempt. Common sense prevails, and instead she finally gives in, and lets the little voice in the back of her head say what she had been trying not to think about since she’d lost contact.  
Some time after turning twenty-one, she stands ready to face her harrowing. Some of the Senior Enchanters had been criticising the First Enchanter, saying he’d been putting it off for his pet pupil, and their own favorite students had repeated the gossip to anyone that would listen. Only she knew why Irving had postponed her Harrowing as long as he reasonably could, and it was simply because she’d asked him to, as she’d wanted to be as prepared as possible. And that preparation pays off.  
One week after passing her Harrowing, she is not where she’d ever thought she’d be again, she is outside the Circle. All her plans having come crashing down around her, all her hopes dashed as she watched her oldest friend slash his wrists with the small knife she’d given him as a present for his fourteenth birthday. She is dirty, and sunburnt, and her back hurts from carrying her pack full of the things she’d been allowed to take with her. But she is in the sunlight, and there are woods up ahead, the smell of them just starting to reach her. The book in her hands is heavy, but she keeps reading as she marches on, aware that the Grey Warden Commander seems surprised that she can read and walk at the same time.  
Four days later, she falls to the floor, arrows jutting out of her shoulder, leg, and arm, blood streaming down her face from a cut above her brow, making it hard to see. The warmth of the lit beacon at her back is comforting, she focuses on it as she takes a deep breath, then releases the strongest mind blast spell she can muster, to drive the pressing flood of darkspawn back, to give Alistair a chance to take down just a few more. She succeeds with the casting of her spell, then manages to lean against the stinking corpse of the Ogre she’d slain earlier, before succumbing to blood loss. The blackness is a relief, and she swears she can hear her mother singing that old Dalish lullaby, somewhere just out of reach, the one about Mythal and the dragon, her favorite when she was little.  
The realization that she is dying hits her softly, which is surprising, she’d expected to be angry, but now she realizes that she’s just tired, and that resting seems like a grand idea. The only thing holding her back is the feeling that someone is holding her hand firmly, dragging her closer to the flames, and away from the snarling enemy. How sweet of him, but it’s a waste, they’re both going to die here, doesn’t he realize that? She tries to squeeze his hand comfortingly, but that only brings the realization that she’s lost control of her limbs. Everything is heavy now, even the air feels too thick to breathe…

Her body feels wooden and stiff, like a badly joined piece of furniture, and the ache deep in her bones makes it clear that this can’t be death. Part of her feels odd about not being dead, like, somehow, she’s upsetting some grand plan, but mostly, she just still feels tired. Living is hard, and she knows whatever she finds when she opens her eyes, it is not going to be anything she is prepared for. But. It’s a second chance, and her father had always told her, “Lyn, you gotta grab those second chances quick, don’t ever let them get away. Sometimes, they end up being the best thing you’d ever done.” So she takes a deep breath, and she opens her eyes, and she decides that she isn’t going to waste this second chance. 

Over a decade later, she looks back on that moment, as she stands before her friends and the family she has made her own, a crown on her head, and a partner she loves with her whole heart by her side. Glad she’d listened to her father’s advice, as this second chance has led to many of the most amazing, as well as the most painful moments of her life, but that’s the thing, it has all been **hers**. Her own life, not the one the Chantry had dictated for her, or what she’d been told she should have had as an elf, let alone as a mage. She is respected and loved, even feared by some, and she has gained the power to make change, so others can get their own second chances, _if_ they’re willing to take them.


	2. Late Night Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Vaelyn's time in the Circle before her harrowing.

On slippered feet, Vaelyn treads softly across the floor of the girl’s dormitory. The sounds of her fellow apprentices sleeping echo ever so slightly off the cold stone walls. She knows she should be in bed, and Maker only knows how much trouble she’ll get in for sneaking around, but she doesn’t really care. With utmost care she gently opens the door and slips out into the hall. It had been Beth’s idea to grease all the hinges on the doors awhile back and Lyn is now glad she’d helped. Granted Beth’s reasons behind wanting the ability to sneak out quietly are a bit different then Vaelyn’s. A quick glance around shows no one in sight, so she continues onward towards the door into the boy’s dormitory. It takes only a moment to slip inside and to crouch next to Jowan’s cot. 

“Psst...Jowan...wake up.” She whispers.

Dark hair is the only thing to be seen above the covers as Jowan always sleeps in a cocoon of blankets, as if maybe by doing that he’ll one day wake up and emerge a mage and not a gawky apprentice. Just as Lyn is about to try shaking him, a muffled whisper escapes the covers.

“What are you doing? It’s the middle of the night. Go away.” He grumbles.

If it wasn’t so dark and if he’d had his eyes above his blankets he would have seen Lyn’s face frown and her eyes narrow with irritation. Lyn doesn’t answer right away and it gives Jowan hope that she’ll just leave. That hope is quickly dashed however, when she rips the blankets back, exposing his face and the top of his torso.

“Andraste’s flaming knickers! It’s cold!” He exclaims in an angry whisper.

It’s all Jowan can do not to yell as the cold air hits his flesh, his voice still comes out louder then he’d intended, his irritation evident in his tone. Crouched next to Jowan’s bed, Lyn ignores his outburst and just shoves his robe at him. Grumbling under his breath, Jowan takes the offered garment and pulls it on over the long underwear he’d been sleeping in. He manages to slip on his shoes in the dark and before he’s even standing up, Lyn is on her way out of the room. Inwardly cursing her impatience, Jowan hurries to catch up with her.

Lyn knows every nook and cranny of the lower floors in the tower. Her steps are certain and quick, her elven blood showing by how her feet barely make a sound on the stones beneath her feet. Jowan follows her, not so gracefully, nor as quietly. After a good ten minutes of slipping down hallways and through staff passageways Lyn comes to her intended destination. Jowan catches up with her in front of a dusty door that looks as if no one has touched it in ages. He gives Lyn a questioning look but she only answers by putting a finger to her lips and then carefully opening the door. Jowan follows her without voicing his doubts, careful to close the door behind him after entering.

The room is dusty and small, with the smell of musty clothes and moldy parchment thick in the air. Large curtains hang high and closed, the thick velvet partially covered in dust, looking as if someone had tried in vain to wipe them clean. His curiosity having finally gotten the better of him, Jowan reaches forward and taps his friend’s shoulder. She turns to look over her shoulder at him, the curtain of her thick brown hair sent swinging wildly from the quick movement of her head. 

“Yes?” She says. 

One eyebrow raises above the grey eyes that flash with an inner light that never ceases to amaze Jowan. That light in her eyes had been what first caught his attention all those years ago when the skinny elven girl had been dragged screaming into the tower by a squad of templars. The light makes her eyes glow with something he can’t quite name. It’s not pride, nor is it anger. Beth had said it best once, calling it “Lyn’s spirit shining free”. That spirit had gotten them in more than a few scrapes, but it has also helped Lyn stay strong and not succumb to the despair that plagued some of the other apprentices. Jowan had been one of them, every day had been painful and pointless until she’d come flying to his rescue one day. Young, alone and scared, they’d become family. He’d helped her as much as she’d helped him. She’d had no idea how to behave around all the “shems” and thus was constantly getting herself in trouble her first year at the tower. He’d taught her how to blend in and stay out of the templars’ way, and she’d taught him how to defend himself against bullies and ways to make the best of what little he had. 

Even though they’re both older now, their relationship hasn’t changed much. So much is constantly changing in the tower, apprentices disappear, die, or become tranquil. It’s reassuring to know that he has someone who would notice if he disappeared, and would do anything to get him back if that should happen.

“Jowan? You’re doing it again.” 

“Huh?”

“Your mind wandered again. I still say that’s why you're having so much trouble with your spells. You miss large chunks of the lessons when you zone out like that.” She says, tone disapproving.

“Sorry. What was I? Oh, that’s right. What in the Maker’s name are we doing here in the middle of the night? I was quite comfortable in my bed, you know.” Says Jowan. 

A guilty look flashes across her face, followed by one of slight mischief, in response to his questions. She clears her throat nervously and looks at her hands closely, so her eyes don’t meet his when she answers his queries. 

“Well... I couldn’t sleep. And I found this place last week and wanted to show it to you.” Lyn says quietly.

Jowan casts another glance around the room and only sees what he saw before. The room is full of half broken furniture and cobwebs. 

“You wanted to show me this?” He asks, obviously unimpressed.

“Well not this exactly...”

Lyn gestures around her as she answers, and then steps over to the curtains. Her small frame looks even smaller next to the massive things. Jowan watches as she takes a firm grip on the edge of one of the curtains and pulls with all her might. The painful sound of rusty metal moving against more rusty metal makes Jowan wince as Lyn pulls the curtain back. A flood of silvery light illuminates the room, causing Jowan to blink owlishly for a moment in order to get his eyes to adjust. When he finally can look up again, the sight that greets him makes his jaw drop.

“Ha! Now do you see what I wanted to show you?” Lyn crows, voice triumphant but still hushed. 

“Maker!” Says Jowan, unable to say any more, as he soaks it all in.

Behind the huge curtains lies a massive window overlooking the lake and the world beyond. Moonlight paints the world outside in blue and silver and Jowan’s heart lightens at the sight. Lyn smiles proudly and then steps closer so she can press her nose to the heavy glass panes. Jowan joins her, raising his hands to rest his palms on the cold glass. The two of them just stand there, soaking in the beautiful world outside their prison. Lyn’s not sure why, but she feels like crying. Maybe it’s the sight of a forest on one of the just visible shores, reminding her of her mother, or the realization that this is the freest she’s felt in years. Either way it doesn’t matter, because she can’t help herself, so she lets the emotions roll over her. 

“Wow Lyn, I’d almost forgotten how pretty things could get at night.” Jowan says softly.

“I know. Amazing how bright the stars can shine.” Lyn replies.

“Mmm..” Jowan agrees. 

As if planned, the two of them turn their backs to the window in unison and sink to the ground. Lyn draws her legs back towards her body and rests her chin on her knees, eyes staring off into nothing. Jowan lets his legs stay out in front of him and leans back against the wall below the window. Both feeling a bit overwhelmed by this taste of life outside the Circle.

“Do you think we’ll ever get to leave the tower?” Asks Jowan.

“Maybe. Once I pass my harrowing I plan on doing everything in my power to get out of here. I don’t care if that means I have to perform party tricks for some backwater Bann.” Lyn answers.

Jowan snorts and Lyn rewards him with a quick punch on the shoulder.

“What? I just can’t see you making flowers out of ice and making some lady’s handkerchief disappear, let alone you being at some Bann’s beck and call. You don’t exactly accept other’s authority very well.” Jowan says.

“Pfft, if that’s what it takes, I’ll do it.” Lyn states, determined. 

“Oh please, Lyn. As if you have the patience for that kind of job! You enjoy blowing things up far too much. You’d probably get annoyed and zap some noble with a bolt of lightning. Then the templars would be after you...” Jowan teases. 

Lyn tries to frown at him but can’t hide her amusement as she pictures blowing up a bunch of nobles at their dinner table. 

“You’re one to talk, Jowan. You play innocent but I know for a fact that you’re a firebug.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Jowan replies, attempting to sound innocent.

Lyn gives Jowan her best “oh really” raised eyebrow look, he resists for a few seconds and then gives up all pretenses.

“Oh fine. I admit that fire can be fun.”

“Please, I know it was you who set Anders’ books on fire when he broke up with Beth.” Lyn says.

“No comment.” Replies Jowan.

Lyn chuckles and then yawns. She’s dressed in her own robe and thus fairly well insulated against the cold stone floor, but a chill still climbs up her back, causing her to shiver. Jowan notices and reaches across the few inches between the two of them and pulls her next to him. She doesn’t resist and settles against him happily. The two sit in companionable silence, just the sound of an occasional breeze moving past the window breaking the blanket of quiet. Lyn leans her head against her friend’s shoulder and thinks about aimless things until Jowan breaks the silence.

“Happy birthday Lyn.”

“Thanks Jowan.”

“Bet you thought I forgot.” 

“Well maybe I doubted a little bit that you’d remember.” Lyn gives him a playful smile, as she answers.

“I never forget about my family, Lyn. As far as I’m concerned you’re my only family. You’re my sister. So of course I wouldn’t forget your birthday.” Jowan says, earnestly. 

“Thanks Jowan. I’m glad to have you as part of my family, even if you are a little touched in the head.” Lyn replies, teasing to avoid getting emotional. 

She raises a hand and pats Jowan on the head gently, as if it might break if she used too much force. Jowan narrows his eyes and looks down on her with annoyance, tinted with a hint of amusement.

“Touched in the head, eh?” He asks.

“Well, only a little bit.” She replies. 

Lyn’s smile is huge and full of mischief, her teeth reflecting the moonlight still streaming into the little room. Jowan rolls his eyes and then lets loose a large sigh.

“Well I think it’s obvious you’re a lot touched in the head.” He quips.

“Pfft, I am not.”

“Really? Then who was the one who used Walking Bomb on a rat and covered Knight Commander Gregoir with its innards?” Jowan asks. 

“Hehe... okay, you’ve got me there. That was a daft thing to do, I can’t imagine what I was thinking. I’m lucky that the First Enchanter was nearby, otherwise I think the Knight Commander would have happily smote me on the spot.” Lyn concedes. 

“He’d certainly looked like he was ready to murder you. His face was so dark red I thought his head was going to blow off. It didn’t help that one of the rat’s eyes was stuck in his hair and it jiggled every time he started yelling again.” Jowan recalls. 

“Oh Maker, I almost died from trying not to laugh out loud.” Lyn says, full of humor. 

The pair giggle together, reliving the whole scene in their minds. The moonlight continuing to shine on them and the contents of the forgotten room as they reminisce, bathing everything in silvery light. Before the moon sets they sneak back to their beds, in need of at least a few hours of sleep.


	3. Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaelyn is secretly assisting the Inquisition when she remembers what day it is...

Vaelyn Surana stands on the wall of Skyhold, overlooking the frozen lake below, hands resting on the ramparts. The wind pulls at her hair, and tickles the back of her neck with the wisps it has freed. The sounds of music coming up from the tavern below curl around her heart and further the ache she’d already been feeling all day, the bard’s lyrics holding more meaning than usual on this day.  
Her mind whizzes through old memories, both the good and the bad, the betrayal and loss, but also the joy and kinship, the years of being practically family. She’d hoped some sunshine and the bracing wind off the mountains would quiet her tumultuous brain, but it had not worked.   
Vaelyn had been taking down notes and had asked Dagna for the date, it hadn’t hit her right away, but when it did? It had felt like a kick from one of the hulking horses in the stables.   
_Today was Jowan’s birthday._  
The thought of her old friend had instantly made her want to cry, but she’d shoved her emotions back down and had continued her work. But then Dagna had been called into a meeting, and so Lyn had fled up here.   
After she’d become the Warden Commander of Ferelden, she’d gone back to Kinloch Hold in an attempt to recruit him before the templars finally got their way and made him tranquil. But he hadn’t been there, all trace of Jowan was gone. She’d found no evidence that something bad had happened to him, but she hadn’t found evidence of him being alive and well either. In the following years she’d keep her connections on the lookout for anyone even resembling Jowan, but still no luck.   
His betrayal and disappearance have been one of her greatest regrets, as he’d deserved a better fate than the one he’d received. Her gut clenches still at the thought of what kind of fear her friend had been dealing with to turn to blood magic. How she’d failed him for not seeing the signs sooner, for brushing off his withdrawal from her as merely being busy with a romantic partner. He’d tried to redeem himself after letting Loghain use him as a pawn, and she’d defended him, but had still caved and let Irving take him back to Kinloch Hold. She had owed him more than that, and it was debt she seemed to be forced to take with her to the grave.  
Vaelyn pictures him in her mind, the Jowan from before, his wry smile and the way he’d fidget while focused on studying. His robes never fitting quite right, always a little big or too small, because he never took the time to alter them like the other mages did. Vaelyn can practically hear him laugh at her latest dumb joke, or the fact that she’s completely hopeless at pulling pranks. She can remember the sound of his voice as he sings along with the others during weekly services in the Circle’s chapel, making sure he sings loud enough to cover up the fact that Lyn refuses to participate. He would worry and try to convince her not to make trouble, but no matter what she decided to do, he had always backed her up.   
Silent tears roll down her cheeks, as she wraps her arms around her midsection, and stares up towards the bright blue sky. She can’t help but wonder about all the what ifs, the could have beens, what he’d say to her now if he was still in her life. He’d probably make a bad joke, just to see her smile. Her heart throbs again, and she lets out a choked sound as she tries to stop herself from letting grief overcome her. Unable to do anything else, she sends up a silent prayer to Mythal and Andraste, asking for Jowan to be alive and safe. It’s a vain wish, but she clings to it, nonetheless.   
The sound of the approaching guard patrol helps get her emotions back in check. She takes a deep breath and wipes the tears from her face. A second deep breath helps steady her, as she turns to head back to her work. Her brain already moving on, desperate for distraction from her pain. But her feet lead her towards the rookery, rather than the undercroft. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to ask Leliana to see if any of her contacts might have heard any rumors about Jowan. Hope flickers in her heart, and she refuses to give up on it, or him, just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was never happy with the lack of closure for Jowan. :/


	4. New Feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I orginally wrote this one years ago, I'm pretty sure it was a prompt from a friend on tumblr? 
> 
> Anyhoo, enjoy Vaelyn being unhappy about change. ;)

"No."

Diminutive she may be, but the conviction on her face made her forbidding, stopping the poor servant in his tracks. Mistress Woolsey was not nearly so flummoxed, her expression hardening in response to her Commander’s ire.

"They're the new standard, Commander. All the Wardens have been urged to dress themselves accordingly."

The object of Vaelyn's displeasure lies before her, displayed on the tabletop, where the servant had quickly placed it before retreating. It's gaudy. She wasn't alone in her opinion, Oghren wasn't exactly welcoming the new armor with open arms either. He had tried it on, and then promptly taken it off, sending some recruits fleeing from the room upon realizing he wasn't wearing any smalls, just a tunic that was shorter than anyone liked. 

She was tempted to "accidentally" send a fireball at the armor, thus eliminating the problem altogether. Maybe the maniacal gleam in her eye gave her thoughts away, because Woolsey suddenly swept forward and snatched the armor off the table, quickly depositing it in the servant's arms and sending him from the room. 

"I suggest that you consider the benefits of wearing it, Commander, as your current set of armor... has seen better days." Woolsey says firmly, but diplomatically.

It wasn’t until the formidable older woman was out of earshot that the dwarf let loose a snicker and inquired, “What’s your problem with the new duds, Commander?”

Lyn doesn’t have an immediate answer for him, so she just grumbles and slumps into the large chair at the head of the table. The dig about the condition of her armor had stung, the last few times she’d dropped it off for Wade to repair she’d had to be very insistent about not wanting anything new; it hadn’t helped when she’d heard the smith start complaining that there was almost nothing left to repair. 

“Bit attached, are ya’, Lyn?”

Oghren’s use of her nickname, softens her face, and puts out most of the anger that had been simmering. With a grunt, the dwarf shifts his position in his chair and then levels a meaningful look at his friend. 

She sighs, “Yes, I am. That armor has served me well, I stopped thinking of it as Cailan's years ago. I slew the Archdemon in it, and enough darkspawn to pave a road to Tevinter with their corpses.”

Oghren plays with the empty tankard, a look of deep thought making the skin between his bushy eyebrows crinkle. A smile graces her face as she watches her friend, there is no other person she would rather have around as her second in command, let alone have fighting at her side. The new recruits always would take him at face value, smelling of ale, loud, and often lewd, they’d question the Commander’s possession of brains for giving the dwarf so much responsibility. And then they’d fight beside him, train under him, and the smart ones would grow to respect the warrior with an unrivaled skill for strategy, behind the bushy beard and drunken singing late at night. 

“I think you should give the new feathers a shot, let your old armor retire. Maybe display it in the great hall, so all the little nuglets can ogle it when they think we’re not looking.” He suggests thoughtfully. 

“Feathers?” She asks.

“Aye, we’re Wardens, right? Griffons and all that stuff?” He replies. 

A laugh exits her mouth, taking Lyn by surprise. New feathers? Makes sense when you put it that way. 

\----

The next morning the new recruits, and younger Wardens stand at attention, waiting to be informed what their training will consist of for the day; a few gossip, discussing how the Commander sent Woolsey fleeing the room, someone swore they heard an explosion and smelled smoke. Speculation travels the room in whispers until a door opens and the troops grow silent, eyes on the group of senior Wardens exiting the building. Dark hair, bow on his back, Nathaniel Howe is easily recognized, as is Oghren standing beside him, but the third person is just out of sight, hidden by the bulk of Nathaniel’s body. Ears strain to hear what they’re talking about, maybe “Weisshaupt” and “Kirkwall” are heard, but nothing is certain. The trio break up, Nathaniel heading towards the stables.

And Vaelyn Surana descends to the courtyard, looking impressive in the blue and silverite armor newly issued, the large griffon on her shoulder glinting in the sun. A few whisper in surprise, and it’s only Oghren who notices when the Commander lets a slight smirk grace her face as she mutters “new feathers indeed” under her breath.


End file.
